For long hours we remained in the slimy tanks, crouched on the sodden mattresses. But it was no longer purgatory. The swish-swish of the screw chased away all sensation of discomfort, and there remained only the realization that we had left Constantinople and soon would have left Turkey. My old habit of subconsciously fitting metre and rhymes to mechanical rhythm, to which I had succumbed many times when seated behind aeroplane motors, began to assert itself as we sat in the darkness and listened to the penetrating throb-throb from the engine-room above us. Incongruously enough the unbidden lines that continued to pass maddeningly through my mind, in time with the steady rise and fall of the piston, were those of a G. K. Chesterton ballad: If I had been a heathen I'd have kissed Naera's curls, And filled my life with love affairs, My house with dancing girls. But Higgins is a heathen; And to meetings he is forced Where his aunts, who are not married, Demand to be divorced. These words held sway for five hours of insistent, monotonous chugging. They were succeeded by an extract from the Prodigal Son: Here come I to my own again. Fed, forgiven and known again. Claimed by bone of my bone again, And sib to flesh of my flesh. The fatted calf is dressed for me; But the husks have greater zest for me-- I think my pigs will be best for me, So I'm off to the styes afresh. By early evening, we had calculated, the _Batoum_ should be leaving Turkish territorial waters and entering the Black Sea. Just before six there came the shock of a bitter disappointment. The captain's telegraph clanged, the engines subdued to dead slow, the vessel swung round into the tide and seemed to remain almost stationary for a quarter of an hour. We had expected a last search by the Turkish customs authorities at the outlet of the Bosphorus and surmised that this was the reason for the slackened speed. But a repetition of the whirring and clanking on deck, followed by a loud splash, showed that the anchor was in action again, and that something more important than a mere search was on hand. For two hours longer we remained in the blackness, unenlightened and very anxious. Then, after the usual removal of the boards and the lid, there floated through the tanks a low-voiced "_Signor!_" Feodor, candle in hand, was waiting for us. He whispered a warning to make as little noise as possible, because two Turkish officials were on board. Having reconnoitred to make sure that the way to Josef's cabin was clear, he led us there. The delay, it appeared, was because the Turkish merchant had left some clearance papers at Constantinople. He had gone for the capital by automobile, and meanwhile two of the Customs Police would remain on the _Batoum_. The merchant was expected to return with the missing document next morning, when permission to leave would be given.